


No Place Like Home

by sweaterbarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Build, To a point, as in Steve doesn't come in until much much later, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaterbarnes/pseuds/sweaterbarnes
Summary: The Asset is cornered in Bucharest. However, once the coast is clear, he finds himself wanting to stay more than run away again. Could he find what he's looking for in a local market and its people? OrHow Bucky found himself again after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my brain for a long time and I'm only now getting around to writing it oops. This story comes from [this post of mine](http://wolfbarnes.tumblr.com/post/143924031509/tired-of-running-of-being-chased-bucky-hunkered) if you're curious.
> 
> As stated in the summary this follows Bucky from the time he finds the apartment until the events of Civil War (and let's be real I'm probably going to completely ignore Civil War but I guess we'll find out).
> 
> I have a general idea of how this story will go but, as with all fictional pieces, who knows where we'll end up! I hope you want to stay for the ride, enjoy!

Stealing was easy enough: walk past, hat low, bump into the older woman with the grocery bags, apologize, slip out an apple or two as you help her gather her things,  get out. It’s not like the Asset felt particularly bad about it. If you’re trusting enough to let a complete stranger near your belongings then you deserve to lose a few fruits.

He bit into the apple and chewed as he walked, staying close to the buildings and away from the open expanse of sidewalk and road beside him. He’d gone a good two weeks without seeing any Hydra agents and he wasn’t eager to recreate what happened the last time. The still healing bullet wound in his side twinged and his gloved fingers curled tight around the apple, juice running down the leather and into his sleeve. He grimaced but let it go, the clothes were already filthy enough what more could some juice residue do?

Just as he tossed the apple core into the nearest trash can a young boy ran past, quickly followed by an even younger girl –she couldn’t have been more than five – who promptly hit her face on the Asset’s  leg and fell flat on her butt, wide eyes staring up at him. He was sure he wasn’t a welcoming sight with his dark ball cap pulled over his eyes and the layer of grime that covered him from head to toe. They stared at each other, the Asset unblinking and the girl clearly trying to decide whether to cry or not.

“Adelina! Don’t be a baby come on!” the boy called from across the street.

Adelina huffed and picked herself up, wiping the dirt off her dress as best as she could before turning to the Asset and determinedly wiping at his pants where she’d faceplanted. When she was done she patted him on the knee, grinned at him proudly despite having to crane her neck to see his face, and took off running again. He turned his head to follow her, lips twitching in what might have been a smile  - he couldn’t remember – when she kicked the boy in the ankle and ran away laughing as he hobbled after her.  The Asset watched them run down the street, past the fruit seller, the blacksmith, and the group of women with comms peeking out from under their hair.

One of the women leaned over to pick up something from one of the carts and the edge of her jeans rode up, revealing the edges of a circular brand and part of a tentacle pattern. Hydra.

The Asset froze in place, metal arm locking up as the stress response that caused his right hand to ball into a fist, ragged, bitten nails digging into his palm and drawing blood, to transfer over to his left side. He’d forgotten it did that.

The agent straightened back up, plum in hand, and casually took a bite as her sharp eyes scanned the crowd. The Asset ducked his head and pretended to examine the headlines at the newsstand beside him, struggling to maintain a regular breathing pattern. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she glanced at him and lingered, eyes narrowing. He closed his eyes and let out a strained breath, left arm still locked up.

“Are you alright, sir?” the man behind the stand asked.

“I’ll take this one.” The Asset pointed to a random magazine with a headline that read “ _Should She Leave Him? How Being an Alien Ruined This Relationship_.” The man slipped it into a bag and handed it over, giving him a once-over as he did. The Asset pulled out the last of the coins in his pocket and dropped them on the counter, taking the magazine and hurrying away from the concerned gaze of the salesman. He tried to keep his gait steady and calm but it was hard to navigate through the crowd without tripping on the rough cobblestones and bringing attention to himself while fighting a panic attack. The bag in his hand crinkled, and he focused on the feel of the plastic under his fingers to keep him grounded as he headed for an alley he’d seen earlier.

He turned the corner and ran right into the old woman from before. His breathing hitched but he managed to ground out an apology as he pushed past her.

“Excuse me, young man!” she exclaimed, grabbing his elbow with surprising strength and pulling him backwards. The Asset only just resisted breaking her fingers. “I believe you have something to say to me, don’t think you’re going to get off the hook.” Her voice was rougher than he’d expected, assumedly remnants from a past smoking addiction.

He didn’t respond, gaze flicking back to the road he’d just turned off of, waiting for when the agents inevitably turned the corner.

“Well?” she asked, foot tapping on the ground impatiently. He looked down at her for a second before looking away again, flinching when a child screamed in laughter. There wasn’t a gunshot, not yet, he was fine. He was fine. The grip on his arm loosened a little. “Young man?”

“I’m…sorry,” he said haltingly, noting the blood pooling in his palm where his nails dug into his hand harder than before. He twisted his arm out of her grip and fished the other uneaten apple out of his pocket. “I ate the other.” He made what he hoped was a convincing apologetic face then booked it, ducking into the alley he’d been looking for and jumping the chain link fence at the end. He landed as quietly as possible without his left arm to keep him balanced.

He’d landed in the yard of a rundown apartment building, the clotheslines strung between the fences that framed it brushing the top of his head. A few pairs of underwear lay in the dirt next to his feet but he didn’t bother to pick them up, instead slipping in through the open back door and starting up the stairs.

No sounds came from inside the last apartment on the top floor and he picked the lock with shaking fingers, sinking down to the floor in relief as the door lock clicked shut behind him. The room was dingy and dark with boards nailed over the windows and a grubby mattress leaning against one wall but it would do.  For now.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The Asset spent the night locking down the apartment as much as he could, given the circumstances. The mattress was leaning against the door and a chair was shoved under the handle. Those and the already board-up windows weren’t much by way of protection but they were all he had. He didn’t have any surveillance tech, the rifle, a handgun, and a few knives the only things he’d been able to take with him when he escaped, so this would have to do.

He found the hole the next morning when the sun rose and a bright beam of light shone directly in his face, forcing him awake. It was small, rough around the edges, and close to the floor. If he lay flat on the dusty floorboards and squinted he could see the road and the merchant’s stalls that lined it on either side. Apparently he hadn’t gone as far as he’d hoped.

Cursing the panic of the night before, he pulled the pieces of his rifle out of his backpack and began to snap them together. His guns were the only things he ever thanked Hydra for, they’d made sure he was always armed with the highest grade weaponry and it was proving useful now. He lined the finished product up with the hole and locked the stand into place, checking the scope twice. Satisfied with the result, he settled onto his stomach and watched for any sign that the agents from before were back. If he’d been stupid enough to stay this close to the market then he sure as hell wasn’t going to let his guard down.

The children from the other day weaved through the legs of annoyed adults, Adelina in pants and a shirt this time instead of a dress. The Asset’s mouth twitched when she caught up to the boy, stuck out her tongue at him, and passed him at full speed. The boy shook his fist dramatically and sped up, running past a stall covered in signs that proudly proclaimed all of the fruits they sold with plums claiming the largest and most colorful sign. A frazzled young woman struggled to cart wooden boxes full of fruit from the bed of an old truck parked in the alley to the stall, wiping her brow and rubbing her back after she put each box down. The Asset’s mouth turned down into a…frown? That sounded right but-he shook his head. Priorities.

He focused back on the street and sucked in a breath, one of the agents was back, stalking down the sidewalk with a glare that he was sure was well-practiced. She shoved a man out of her way and the Asset shook his head in disbelief. Hydra was slacking on the subtlety lessons. He sobered when she stopped in front of the old woman he’d stolen apples from. The agent pasted on an obviously fake smile and he could just make out the phrase “Have you seen” before a car revved its engine and covered the rest of her question. It didn’t matter, he knew she was describing him. To his surprise the older woman pretended to think about it and shook her head, apologizing. The agent thanked her and walked away, pressing a finger to her ear and speaking in quiet, rapid-fire Russian. He tracked her until she left his line of sight, lingering in case she doubled back. She didn’t but when he looked back to where the old woman was standing she looked straight up and into the scope of his rifle, like she knew he was there. He narrowed his eyes but stayed where he was. She nodded after a second and strolled away down the road like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Shocked, he cycled through the events of the night before but nothing he could come up with explained how she knew he was there. Suspicious, he watched her shop until he couldn’t see her anymore but she acted completely normal except for the occasional glance up at him.

He never thought an old woman shopping would make him nervous but here he was.

~~~~~~

Around midnight someone knocked on his door three times and walked away, the heels on their shoes thumping unevenly down the hall. He didn’t move for a long time, eyes locked on the door and ears cocked for any further signs of life. When two hours passed without another sound he slowly and silently moved everything away from the door. Handgun cocked and knife tucked in his waistband he opened the door an inch. Nothing moved and he couldn’t hear anything so he opened the door a little more and, with his gun aimed into the hall, crouched to examine the basket sitting at his feet. There were no signs of tampering, no little flashing lights or quiet ticking sounds, and when he nudged it it didn’t explode so he carefully picked it up and shut the door.

After he’d barricaded the door again he started to pick apart the contents of the basket, checking each object for bugs or explosives. A bag of plums, a bar of soap, a towel, a few carrots, two bottles of water, and a still-warm thermos of soup. Underneath it all was a wide loaf of bread that filled the whole bottom of the basket. He stared at it all in shock. It was everything that old woman bought at the market plus soup. He looked up at the door and then back down at the basket. He hesitated then popped open the thermos, inhaling deeply and startling when his stomach grumbled loudly. The only thing he’d had to eat in the past week was a protein bar and an apple.  He cautiously brought the thermos to his lips and took a sip, figuring if it was poisoned he’d already inhaled the steam and he was verging on too hungry to care. It hit his tongue and he had to fight back a sob at the taste. Something in the very back of his mind lit up at the flavor of home-cooked soup and filled him with a warm, comfortable feeling he didn’t recognize but liked. A lot. He finished it in record time, wiping his mouth with his already disgusting sleeve.

The soup settled like lead in the pit of his stomach and he knew that the cramps tomorrow would be hell but he’d survive. The soup had been worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short but I'll try to make up for it with the next one, sorry!

As predicted a stabbing pain in his gut greeted him when he woke up and he cursed, pressing a hand against his abdomen in a futile attempt to push it away. The soup from before was threatening to come out and he honestly couldn’t tell which end was more likely. He shoved his face against the floor, smearing dust across his face, and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for a fresh wave of pain to pass; his breathing coming in little, strained huffs. His stomach gurgled in distress, bringing with it a flash of memory

~~~~~~

_“Buck, you have to be kiddin’ me! Where’d you find all this?” A skinny blond child – no, a man – stared wide-eyed at a small table. A few cans of vegetables, an open box of what vaguely resembled meat, and two bottles of milk sat on top of a wrinkled paper bag. A few slightly wilted flowers tied together with string lay beside the milk, a little note attached. The blond man picked up the note and read it, mouthing a few of the words and looking up at the Asset with glistening eyes. “You didn’t have to do this. I’m bringing in enough from the paper, I could have at least bought the milk.”_

_The Asset shook his head and plucked the note out of his hands, replacing it with the flowers. “I wanted to.”_

_“But…fine. You get the first bite,” the man said, a determined set to his jaw that made the Asset…smile fondly?_

_The man shoved the meat at him and the Asset took a bite, raising an eyebrow as he chewed. Seemingly satisfied the blond man dug into the food, popping open the cans with an almost giddy laugh. They ate it all as fast as they could, the blond man chiding the Asset with a, “Slow down, Jesus!” at the same time as he himself was shoveling food into his mouth. The Asset downed the last of his milk with a burp and they collapsed back onto the floor, hands linked together and smiles matching even as they both groaned in pain._

_“You were right, we should have slowed down.”_

_“Did you just say I was right? A miracle, folks! Call the priest!”_

_“Shut it.”_

_“You love it, don’t lie.”_

_The Asset looked over at the blond man and nodded, “I do.” He leaned in and hovered over him, ducking his head until their lips were almost touching. The blond man considered him, his thin hand coming up and tracing the line of the Asset’s jaw._

_“Thank you,” he said softly before surging up and-_

_~~~~~~~_

The Asset gasped and curled in on himself, new pain in his head matching the pain in his gut. Everything throbbed and he was beyond confused, the man in the memory looked at the same time everything like the man in the museum and nothing like the man in the museum. The blond man in his memory was smiling and happy, nothing like the sullen, drawn-faced man displayed on the walls of the exhibit. The information from external sources didn’t match his internal memories and he wasn’t sure how to process it. None of his training covered how to handle something like this so he did what he did best and filed the memory away for later, making fighting through his current pain his primary objective.

Every twitch and shift made it worse so he stayed completely still until it receded enough for him to move. He immediately regretted sitting up, keeping a hand on his stomach and closing his eyes, breathing through it. If eating soup too fast affected him this much he was getting weak, he knew it. Without a predictable routine of nutrient intake or a way to maintain his muscle mass he was slowly losing what had kept him alive so far: his power. He made a mental note to write out a workout plan when he could properly move again.

Eventually, he made it to his rifle and set up camp behind the scope, watching the street. In what appeared to be their routine Adelina and the boy ran by and the frazzled woman lugged the same boxes of fruit to her stand. The old woman didn’t make an appearance once and, to his relief, neither did the agents. He watched until the children were called home and the last of the merchants drove away and the streetlights had been on for hours before he looked away from the scope, blinking once as his eyes adjusted to the complete darkness of the apartment. The soup had been fully digested and he felt more alert than he had in months now that he had sufficient fuel in his system.

He moved to the basket and pulled off a piece of bread, rolling it over in his fingers. He almost ate it but put it back at the last second. Tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The agents didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that.

After a week the Asset relaxed enough to actually explore the apartment as much as he could without much light. Equipped with a small kitchen and an attached bathroom with only a toilet and sink it was cramped but he could work with it. He opened every cabinet and drawer but there wasn’t anything there. Just cobwebs, dust, and the occasional spider that skittered away when he moved too quickly. A single light hung from the ceiling and when he flipped the switch it flickered but refused to turn on.

He walked the perimeter of the apartment, running his flesh hand along the wall to check for more holes. His fingers hit a cold, distinctly not wallpapered, surface and he stopped, cocking his head as he examined it, tracing the ridges and dips of what appeared to be a door. He couldn’t see it very well in the dark but his hand moved up and hit fabric that, when nudged to one side, let in a bright shaft of light. Shit, a black-out curtain. He dropped to the floor, covered his head with his hands, and started to count down from one hundred. If Hydra was still casing the area there was every chance he’d just outed himself.

 Three, two, one, nothing. No gunshots, no agents crashing into the apartment, no sign he’d been caught. 

Frowning in confusion, he looked up. The curtain was still ajar, caught in itself, and he crept up to it, looking through the gap. A rickety balcony clung to the side of the building through rusting supports, the thin rail shaking in the wind. The only things he could see were the bricks of the neighboring apartment building. No one was hiding and there were no sniper rifles aimed at his chest. Maybe they really had moved on.

He pulled the curtain aside more, letting in even more light. He turned back towards the inside of the apartment and took in the drab and peeling green wallpaper that covered each wall except for the one behind the stove which was adorned with what looked to be faded, poorly painted bouquets of flowers. The mattress was surprisingly unstained, just dusty. What the hell, he thought after a moment. He’d slept on worse and the floorboards were giving him a sore back.

With minimal effort he moved the mattress from the door to a dark corner with a perfect view of the entire apartment. He left the chair hooked under the doorknob, though. A little caution never hurt anyone.

~~~~~~

He didn’t even think about venturing out to the market. It was too open and he was still kicking himself for putting that many civilians at risk. It was stupid, poorly planned, and a result of faulty judgement. He refused to let himself go like that again.

In his search of the apartment he’d uncovered a stack of untouched notebooks inside one of the kitchen cabinets. A thorough investigation of the drawers revealed a pencil and three half-empty pens. Leaning his back against the wall, trying to relieve some of the pain that radiated out from where his metal arm connected with his shoulder. Since finding the apartment he’d begun to relax a little and with that came heightened awareness of what poor a condition his body was in. The bullet wound in his side sometimes tore open again and he was forced to stitch it back up each time (he was very quickly running out of medical supplies and he hoped that he healed in time), his metal arm felt heavier than before and it was more of a hindrance than a help. Not to mention all the various bruises he'd accumulated that were now sickly yellow and sore. Without Hydra to fix him up he wasn’t healing nearly as fast. Shaking his head and adjusting his position he cracked open one of the notebooks and scrawled “Exercises” at the top of the page.

An hour and twenty neatly printed bullet points later he’d finished a workout routine that he knew would put him back in fighting shape. He smiled proudly - he knew what it was called, he'd remembered three nights ago – and closed the book. He’d start the next day.

~~~~~~

He’d just finished the last of the bread from the basket when another three knocks echoed through the quiet apartment, causing him to almost choke on crumbs in surprise. Rubbing his throat with a grimace he made his way to the door in time to hear the uneven footsteps turn and disappear into the apartment at the other end of the hall. The old woman shut and locked her door and at the click the Asset snatched the new basket and pulled it inside, returning the chair to its position before bringing the basket to his mattress and opening it. This time she’d given him two containers of soup (which he set in the barely cold refrigerator), two small books, four bottles of water, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a newspaper (which he stacked on top of the strange alien magazine he was determined not to read), and another loaf of bread were packed tightly in the basket.

It was only as he was flipping through the first book, a romance book titled “The Lady’s Heart” that looked vaguely entertaining, did he realize he hadn’t checked the basket this time. Didn’t look for bugs or explosives. In fact, he hadn’t done a sweep of the main road in almost a day and the black-out curtain had been pulled open since that morning, leaving the inside of the apartment vulnerable.

This had never happened to him before, at least not that he could remember.

Without realizing it he’d gotten comfortable.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update but I have another project I'm working on, I had finals, and I've been sick for at least three weeks with varying degrees of intensity. I hope this chapter makes up for it and I already know what I want to put in the next one so hopefully it won't take me as long to complete.
> 
> I hope you all have a very wonderful day and Happy Holidays!
> 
> Also, sidenote: I've decided to change course from canon pretty drastically so fair warning that that'll be a thing at some point soon.

The Asset dropped the book, shot off the mattress, and slammed the curtains closed, twisting the fabric in his fists. Across the hall the old woman’s door opened and shut as she left her apartment and thumped down the stairs. The Asset cocked his head and stared hard at the door, listening to her footsteps echo in the stairwell. His lip curled slightly and the curtain in his metal fist tore. This was her fault, she’d made him weak.

~~~~~~

The old woman kept leaving baskets week after week but he refused to bring them inside, waiting for her to give up and take them back to her own apartment. Every time he heard her approach his hand twitched, itching to grab his knife and drive it through her, but every time he stopped before he touched the hilt. There was insufficient evidence that she wanted to kill him and he was determined to not let his more primal instincts lead him, reminding himself this was probably paranoia messing with his judgment. Looking around the room just confirmed his paranoia theory.

The curtains hadn’t been opened in three weeks and his eyes burned from staring through the scope of his rifle without blinking for hours on end. His arm was getting stiff and creaky because he was running out of oil and couldn’t make himself leave the apartment. Anytime he tried to get up and venture out to the market or even just to rummage through the trash bins behind the building he started shaking and had to retreat to his post by his rifle. It’d gotten so bad he’d almost returned the mattress to the door before forcing himself to keep it in the corner. He knew if he went back to sleeping on the floor the constant aching in his back would get infinitely worse.

He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and buried his face in the dirty mattress with a groan. The back pain was getting bad again and he didn’t know what to do. He’d figured out pretty quickly that the arm was the problem when he lifted it past his pecs and sharp pains lit up his back like fireworks. He’d tried to work out but couldn’t power through it, dropping to the floor in the middle of a pushup coated in sweat and hazy with pain. Hydra must have attached the arm to his spine and neck for it to be this much of an issue, he thought with a bitter smile. They knew if they did it that way he’d be screwed if he ever ran. They knew his greatest weapon would be his greatest setback without all their scientists and engineers to maintain him and stick him in cryo right before it got bad. They’d installed a failsafe, essentially a self-destruct button. He growled and roughly massaged his left shoulder where the metal arm met his skin, pressing into the dense scar tissue and ignoring the lack of feeling. If he closed his eyes he could feel thin, phantom fingers following his soothingly, lulling him into a sense of security.

~~~~~~

_A soft palm dug into the meat of the Asset’s shoulder, pressing the knots of stress with pinpoint accuracy._

_“You’ve only been working at that new hotel for a week, they’ve barely started building the front door. How in God’s name are you this tense already?” The same skinny blond man that always made an appearance in the Asset’s memories switched from his hand to his elbow, digging the bone into the Asset’s back and making him moan loudly. “Shut it, Buck, or Mrs.O’malley’ll complain to Jonesy again. I don’t feel like making nice with the landlord for the third time ‘cause you can’t keep quiet.”_

_The Asset laughed and tried to relax, exhaling heavily and closing his eyes. The blond man huffed a laugh of his own and hopped up on the bed, straddling the Asset’s lower back with his elbows mirroring each other on either side of the Asset’s spine. He rubbed them into the Asset's back, right along the rigid lines of muscle, softening them with hard pressure.The Asset let out the loudest, most satisfied groan of his life and shuddered, earning himself a slap on the side with a stern, “Bucky!” The Asset laughed again and managed to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the massage, silently enjoying the other man’s hands making their way down his back. Lower and lower until-_

~~~~~~

The memory was cut off by loud knocking that shattered the calm silence of the Asset’s apartment. He froze, metal arm whirring loudly as it tried its best to accommodate the sudden wave of nervous energy coursing through his body. Three more knocks then a familiar thump. The old woman.

He reached for his knife but paused, listened to the rattle and creak of his arm, felt the grime and grease that coated his body, and grimaced at the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. He needed the contents of that basket, and pretty desperately at that. Fuck it. Slowly and unsteadily he stood up and made his way across the room, readying his knife before opening the door, staying behind it like it was a shield. He crouched, shoved his knife around the door, hooked the basket, and dragged it inside, shutting and latching the door as quick as possible. He sat down heavily, letting the wall take his weight as he tried to get his shaking limbs under control.

The basket sat just inches away and the smell of hot soup spread through the apartment, making his stomach turn and nausea rear its ugly head. He’d clearly gone longer than he’d thought without eating. He pushed himself over to the basket and pulled out the soup, popping off the top staring at the thick, creamy liquid. He licked his lips and took a sip, melting when it hit his tongue. Throwing his paranoia out the window he took huge gulps of the soup, relishing every drop. It dribbled down his chin and soaked into the collar of his shirt but he didn’t care, it was food. The soup settled in his gut like a rock and he loved it, loved the warmth it brought with it.

He was still shaking but the hunger pains had gone, his mind was clearer than it'd been in weeks, and he'd staved off starvation for another few days. It was worth it. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a happy, fluffy chapter on me <3
> 
> EDIT: Just realized I missed some major errors, so sorry about that!

~~~~~~

He’d forgotten what it looked like outside of the apartment. Crumbling and grimy, the wallpaper was an ugly yellow with stains that strangely resembled hearts. Any carpet that had been there was now nothing but thin strands of fabric clinging to the splintering wood for dear life. The rail of the stairwell was the only thing wholly intact and even it was beginning to show signs of rusting through in places. Frankly, he was shocked this building was still standing. It did work in his favor, though; nobody except the old woman was interested in being associated with this place so he was relatively safe.

The old woman hadn’t made any noise since she’d come home hours ago and he’d decided to make his move. The containers and baskets had started to pile up and he was pretty sure she’d be wanting to have them back. Not wanting her to knock on his door looking for them he’d piled them all up to leave at her doorstep. His balancing skills appeared to have gotten rusty, however, as he’d already had to catch three thermoses determined on jumping ship down the stairwell. Any more and he might lose the whole stack. 

He made his way down the hall, watching the floorboards and stepping around the looser ones, silent as a ghost. He accidentally brushed a board that looked intact but let out a groan that sounded not unlike a dying moose when his foot touched it. Inside the old woman’s apartment something moved and the Asset froze, bracing the unwieldy baskets in his arms with his metal arm as he listened. The movement stopped and he kept going, crouching at the base of the door and delicately lowering the baskets, smiling proudly when he set them down without dropping anything else. He stabilized the pile and padded back across the floor, steps light so as not to make another noise, when the door to the old woman’s apartment opened and she cleared her throat meaningfully.

“Aren’t you going to come inside, young man?”

~~~~~~

The Asset sat stiffly in a threadbare armchair patterned with fading flowers and watched the old woman-Greta, he corrected himself- carry a tray of sandwiches and tea across the room. It rattled loudly and tipped, threatening to fall.

“Don’t get up, you stay right there,” she said, waving a hand she really couldn’t spare at him in irritation when he made to stand up and reach for the tray. The tray tipped more but she caught it and put it down on the low coffee table without spilling a single drop. She took a cup and a sandwich and put them in his lap before taking her own and settling into a too wide rocking chair to the left of him that swallowed her thin frame. She held her cup to her mouth but didn’t drink, raising an eyebrow at him and nodding to his cup.

He slowly raised his cup to his lips, sniffed it suspiciously, and took a sip of the floral tea when he didn't detect anything dangerous. Surprised at how much he liked it, he took another, much larger sip and winced as it burned its way down his throat. Greta chuckled and drank her own tea, rocking back and forth quietly.  He set down his empty cup, regretting how quickly he'd gulped down the scalding liquid.

“You know,” Greta said, breaking the silence, “I don’t understand what it is with men and keeping to themselves. My husband was the same way, spent half our marriage in his study.” She shook her head, chuckling into her tea. “So dramatic, the lot of you.”

The Asset didn’t respond, just poked the sandwich, subtly lifting the top piece of bread to investigate the inside and immediately dropping it when he was greeted with a creamy mess that he couldn't even begin to identify.

“Oh, Lord help me-just eat the sandwich!” She whacked his calf with the cane that leaned against the coffee table and rolled her eyes. “If I was going to poison you do you really think I would’ve waited this long? Honestly, the nerve.”

He stared at her with narrowed eyes as he ate the sandwich. He strongly suspected the cane was there purely for offensive purposes, she had never used it in the market.

She leaned the can against her knee and said conversationally, “I’m trying a new recipe, do you think the blue cheese is too much or is it the cream cheese that's the problem? I can never get it right.”

He cocked his head slightly, studying her. Surely this was a ploy, there had to be something else going on. Hydra? Likelihood well under thirty-five percent, she’d mislead the agents and hadn’t tried to kill him yet. Bounty hunter? Too old for the rough lifestyle. Besides, bounty hunters rarely earned enough for motel rooms, let alone full apartments. Government agent? Likelihood between fifty and sixty percent but she hadn’t turned him in yet and they had always been too trigger happy, never waiting long enough to figure out his patterns and successfully apprehend him. He peered at her. She looked like she genuinely wanted his opinion on cheese, of all things. How odd. Greta pointed a wrinkled finger at the sandwich.

“Take another bite.”

He did. He hadn’t noticed the bite of heat the first time. Red pepper? He licked his lips, thinking. After a long moment, he made up his mind and spoke.

“Cut the cream cheese in half.” His voice was barely audible, ragged and rough from disuse and he cleared his throat softly.

Greta poured him more tea, adding some honey from a small, clear jam jar on the tray. “Interesting, Audriana said it was the blue cheese. To each their own I suppose.” She handed him the fresh cup of tea and grinned at him. “I have four more sandwiches if you’re up for it.” She was already up and shuffling to the kitchen before he could respond.

He blinked. This night was not going to plan. 

~~~~~~

“Take them, take them. If they stay in the fridge I’ll eat them all and Lord knows I don’t need that. You’re skin and bones anyway.” Greta patted the Asset’s hard, toned abs and clucked her tongue, pushing him out the door. “Go eat those up and come back tomorrow. I just got a new soup recipe from the girls at church and I need a tester.” She shut the door and he listened to her clean up dishes and turn off the lights, waiting until she had gone to bed to return to his apartment.

Part of him wanted to go back inside and listen to her talk until the sun rose but he buried that thought as soon as it appeared. He was _not_ going to get attached, he told himself. This was only another unexpected avenue through which to obtain more food. Nothing more, nothing less. 

~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! It's been a while - oops - but I'm settling into my college classes and working on fixing my crazy schedule so I should be quicker with the updates (here's hoping!)
> 
> One quick thing: the next chapter is where I start to kick canon in the ass and do my own thing so, fair warning, don't expect much of anything of civil war to be a part of this fic. I have other plans ;)

 

If you asked the Asset why he went back to Greta’s apartment the next night he wouldn’t be able to answer. He couldn’t say why he indulged her need to fill him to capacity with strange, often disgusting flavor combinations. He couldn’t say why he started to look forward to seeing her face and hearing her tut over how ‘skinny you are, my God’ when they both knew that he was rapidly bulking up. By a rough estimate, he’d gained ten pounds within a month. Which, taking into account his overeager metabolism and that he didn’t eat unless he went to Greta’s, was saying something. He couldn’t say why he started a chart for her of what she’d used in her latest recipes with x’s and checkmarks signifying what worked and what didn’t, dedicating a section of his notebook to it. He couldn’t say why he had to suppress tears when he bit into something that triggered a flash of blond hair or the image of a middle-aged woman with brown hair, a wide smile, and a baby on her hip ruffling his hair and laughing in that tinny, far off way that so often accompanied his scattered memories.

He wouldn’t say why the thought of leaving his apartment made him shake for minutes instead of hours, why he’d stopped checking his rifle again, why, despite the searing pain in his shoulder at every breath, he made his way to her apartment to keep her company.

Why he’d let Greta make herself a fixture in his life, despite his best attempts to resist.

~~~~~~

The cabinet was small and cramped, the air inside musty and stifling. He wormed a hand up past his abdomen and ran a finger along the crack in the pipe above him, flinching and blinking away the cold water that dripped down on his face. Outside the cabinet, Greta tapped his ankle with her cane to get his attention.

“Is it fixable?”

He retracted his legs a bit, bending them at the knees and planting his feet on the floor. He reached up to the back of the cabinet and pushed himself back out into the open air of her apartment. He took a minute to close his eyes and breathe, pushing away the tremors that traveled through his shoulders from the effort of keeping his breathing regular. In her rocking chair, Greta sat and waited patiently, used to letting him take his time formulating his words. He rolled his neck and opened his eyes, looking over at her.

“Duct tape.”

She sighed heavily, settling back in her chair, wincing at the change of pressure on her hips. “I don’t have any, I’d have to go buy some.”

The Asset frowned, looking her over. For the past few days she’d been limping more, he could tell her arthritis was flaring up. She’d refused to admit anything was wrong, even when she tripped on the carpet and he’d only just managed to catch her before she knocked herself out on the edge of the coffee table. He worried at his lower lip, thinking. 

She made the decision for him when she pushed herself out of the chair and froze, hand flying to her hip as she grimaced. He jumped up and gently settled her back into her chair.

“I’ll go.”

Greta’s eyebrows reached her hairline and she stared at him with wide, concerned eyes. She narrowed them quickly.

“I can still walk, you know. I’m just a little sore, nothing I can’t work with.”

The Asset stared her down impassively. She gave an exaggerated eye roll but relented, waving a hand in the direction of the closet.

“Fine then, if you’re going to be stubborn about it fetch me my bag.”

He brought it to her and she rummaged through it, producing a worn and faded leather wallet with a barely visible skull on the front. This time he raised his eyebrows at her and she shrugged.

“I’m eighty not dead.”

He blinked, not changing his expression.

“There’s a decent amount of cash in there just run down to the market and find Marc’s stall, he runs a hardware store down the street and usually brings some good supplies.”

He nodded and pocketed the wallet. He made to leave but she put a hand on his elbow, giving him pause.

“Be careful.”

He nodded and patted her hand before leaving. He’d be fine, he could do this.

~~~~~~

He couldn’t do this.

His flesh hand squeezed the wallet so hard the clasp threatened to bust and his metal arm whined as it adjusted to his tightly clenched and creaking fist that he’d shoved in his pocket to keep hidden. He was surrounded by a flood of people, all chattering, yelling, and moving in a wave that bumped him at every turn. Men and women haggled prices at every stall and their children ran after each other, weaving through the legs of adults. Logically, he recognized the market was far less crowded than when he’d first arrived in Bucharest but he hadn’t stepped foot outside in months. The colors were blindingly bright in the midday sun and the noises crashed into his ears like cymbals, making him twitch at every gasp and laugh.

He pulled the brim of his ball cap low over his eyes, mimicking his first visit to the market, and hurried through the crowd, keeping close to the edges of the road and scanning for a stall that looked like it might have duct tape. Hopefully, he’d make it out without actually needing to speak, it was hard enough to talk with Greta let alone a streetful of strangers he hadn't had months to evaluate.

He spotted a glint of metal and made his way towards it, grimacing when he saw the man behind the stall locked in a shouting match over a drill with a very small, very angry man who was turning a concerning shade of red. In a split-second decision, the Asset veered left towards the fruit stalls, hoping if he just pretended to consider the apples for long enough the small man would leave so he could buy his tape and make his escape.

_Smash._

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry!” A young woman with frizzy brown hair falling out of a loose ponytail scrambled to collect the plums that were rolling down the cobbled streets and getting crushed under passing feet. The crate she’d been carrying lay splintered on the ground next to the Asset, the remnants of its unfortunate collision with his metal arm.

He stared down at her, unblinking, glad that his jacket was large enough to hide the knife he’d instinctually unsheathed and primed the second she’d run into him. He carefully slid it back into its compartment inside his jacket and bent down to help her pick the now muddy and bruised fruit. The woman kept apologizing frantically, sounding almost close to tears as she tried to piece enough of the crate back together so she could carry the surviving plums to her stall. It fell apart when she let go and she choked back a mournful sound and pressed a hand over her eyes, taking deep, slow, quaky breaths while slumped in the middle of the street.

Stiffly, the Asset shrugged off his coat, ignoring the pervasive feeling of the stares from the crowd around them examining them, and started dropping plums into a cradle he made with the body of the coat. The woman stared at him, mascara running a little at the edges of her eyes, and slowly started to transfer the plums from inside the basket to the coat. When they finished he silently followed her to her stall and unloaded the plums, carefully lining them up in their display.

“Thank you,” the woman said, smiling warmly at him, eyes still shiny. “You don’t know how much this means, really.”

He managed to twitch the corners of his mouth up and nod before he hastily covered himself back up and made his way back to the stall with the duct tape, sighing heavily when he saw that the man behind the counter was cradling his face with a split lip and the man he’d been arguing with was now standing on the stall, shouting long strings of curse words that made even the Asset shift uncomfortably. Clearly neither of them was going to give in anytime soon. He leaned against the brick wall of the building behind the stalls to wait, watching. The smaller man screamed something unintelligible and launched himself at the man behind the counter, the force of his jump causing the stall to wobble, groan, and fall.

Among the shouts of surprise and concerned citizens rushing to help the Asset took his chance and scooped up a roll of duct tape that rolled out of the chaos, dusted it off, and melted into the crowd, slipping his way through people and back to the apartment building.

He didn't notice the flash of blond hair as a tall man, accompanied by a short, red-haired woman, turned in circles, scanning the crowd. Searching.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Comments and feedback are always welcome <3
> 
> Stalk me on [Tumblr](http://wolfbarnes.tumblr.com/).


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